Black Ops

that in, both to the Department and to Homeland Security, the response was not to worry, chlorine and filters, etcetera.”

“Moments ago, Jack, you asked me if I ever wondered why the people responsible for—”

“Stealing the 727 bothered with a bunch of morons?”

“Essentially.”

“I have my own theory, which nobody agrees with, except sometimes Sandra.”

“And, since last night, me,” Santini offered.

“And me and Darby,” Delchamps added. “This is what really pushed us over the edge, Charley. Listen to him. Go on, Jack.”

“The people behind this, Charley, don’t really expect to wipe out half the population of Philadelphia by poisoning the water any more than they expected the morons to be able to find the Liberty Bell, much less fly into it with an airliner.”

“Then what?”

“To cause trouble in several ways. First, exactly as the greatest damage done by the lunatics who flew into the Twin Towers was not the towers themselves, but the cost, the disrupted economy.

“There would be mass hysteria, panic, chaos—call it what you will—if it came out that any of those things had been dumped into the water supply. And if they caught one of the AALs pouring stuff into the water supply, it would do the same thing for we colored folks as 9/11 did for the Arabs. You’ll recall that every time we saw a guy who looked like he might be an Arab, we wondered if he was about to blow something up. So if a black guy got caught—and those AAL morons are expendable; they might arrange for the whole mosque to get bagged with anthrax spores and the photos I took of the water supply—every time someone who wasn’t black looked at someone who was, it’d be, ‘Watch out for the nigger; he’s going to try to poison you.’ ”

“Ouch,” Castillo said.

“Jack’s right, Ace. Nobody will talk about it, but that’s the way it is.”

“Okay,” Castillo said. “I’m convinced that this thing should be looked into, and we’re not equipped to do it. So, what you’re suggesting is that I get on the horn and call Langley and say I have two defectors?”

“No. That’s exactly what we’re going to try to talk you out of doing, at least until we have looked into it and have something Langley—and Homeland Security and the FBI—can’t look at, then laugh in our face and condescendingly say, ‘Oh, we know all about that, and there’s nothing to it.’”

“I don’t think I follow you,” Castillo said.

“Okay. Let’s suppose that I’m right, and Berezovsky and the redhead were headed for Vienna, having arranged to defect. Who was going to help them do that?”

“My friend Miss Moneypenny,” Castillo said.

“Right, Ace. And they never showed; they have disappeared. So Miss Moneypenny—that’s not her name; why do I let you get away with that?—Miss Eleanor Dillworth, the station chief, who is about to become famous at Langley for being the one who turned in the Berlin rezident and the Copenhagen rezident in one fell swoop of spook genius, is more than a little worried.

“She would have kept Langley posted on what’s going on. So they probably sent somebody over there to help her carry this off. For sure, they have assets in place—an airplane standing by, and someone turning the mattresses and polishing the silver in one of those houses on Chesapeake Bay. Wouldn’t surprise me if the DCI already is practicing his modest little speech in which he lets slip, ‘Oh, by the way, Mister President, my station chief in Vienna just brought in the SVR Berlin rezident,’ etcetera, etcetera. . . .

“But suddenly no Berezovsky. Anywhere. He’s vanished. So the DCI asks Station Chief Dillworth, ‘What has happened? Has anything unusual happened around here lately?’ And Dillworth replies, ‘Not that I can think of,’ but does think to herself, Except that good ol’ Charley Castillo was in town, very briefly.”

“Okay, so she suspects we have them. So what?”

“It is not nice to steal the agency’s defectors, Colonel. They might let you off with a warning if you promptly hand them over and say you’ll never do it again. But don’t hold your breath. And if you did hand them over, we’re back to: ‘We know all about that Congo facility, and there’s nothing to it.’ ”

“So what am I supposed to do?” Castillo said.

“If Alex and I have another forty-eight hours, minimum, I think we can get a hell of a lot more out of Berezovsky than we have so far. One of the problems—and this is where you will get your feathers up, Ace, but that can’t be helped—is your method of interrogation. He thinks you’re a fool with this ‘Let’s have a swim and some steak and wine and be friends’—and that makes all of us fools.”

Castillo was silent a moment, then put down his coffee mug with a clunk that seemed to resonate in the table.

“You’re right, Edgar. My feathers are up. But you damn sure aren’t going to put him—either one of them— naked into a chair, pour ice water on them, and start shining bright lights into their eyes.”

Delchamps shook his head.

“You underestimate me, Ace. Me and Alex and Santini. That doesn’t work on people like Berezovsky and Sister, and we know it. What we’re going to do is give him a little opportunity to worry while we question him just about around the clock in two-man relays.”

Shit. This is really where my new relationship gets rocky.

“What’s he going to worry about?” Castillo said.

“Where his sister is and what she is telling us.”

What the hell is he thinking?

“And where is the sister going to be?”

“Same place as you, Ace.”

What did he say?

“What?”

“Anywhere but here, Ace, when Ambassador Montvale calls to ask if you happen to know anything about Berezovsky. Bariloche would make sense. You’re going there to see Pevsner, right?”

“And I should take her with me? Is that what you’re saying?”

For a romantic interlude in Bariloche?

Jesus, maybe they do know!

Is that what this is?

They want me out of the way because I just proved my gross goddamn stupidity by screwing a SVR agent?

And since they can’t order me out of the way, they’re offering me three sex-filled days in beautiful Bariloche.

Well, sanity has returned.

Svetlana, my love, I now understand what happened. I’m not even angry with you. You did what you thought you had to do, and you did it with great skill. I will remember that piece—those pieces—of absolutely superb ass to my dying day.

But . . . Yea, I have seen the light, Praise Jesus, and ol’ Charley ain’t gonna sin no more.

“Okay, Edgar,” Castillo said. “Let’s cut the crap. Why do you want me out of here?”

The question surprised—maybe shocked—not only Delchamps but the others as well. It showed on their faces.

“Ace, I just told you. We want to interrogate that bastard for forty-eight hours.”

“You could do that if I was here. You know I usually defer to you in matters like this. What else is there? I either get a good answer or I stay and wait for the agency to send people to take these people off my hands.”

“Jesus Christ!” Darby said.

“I told you something like this would probably happen,” Delchamps said.

“Let’s have it,” Castillo ordered.

Darby threw up his hands in resignation. “Tell him.”

“You’re not going to like this, Ace.”

“Come on, come on.”

“Our egos are involved,” Delchamps said.